


Boy, you need prayer

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Zayn’s bad religion is a shadowy, deep, undulating complex; a friend from home he’s craved since he was young. But he’s happy Niall is the one here, in this moment, he really is. He feels safe." </p><p>Zayn nurses unrequited love and Niall's there to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy, you need prayer

**Author's Note:**

> old fic, new home. very close to my heart, tiny as it may be.

Somewhere in the middle of I-90, a bus cuts through the night—headlights two serrated illuminations in the darkness. The windows are large, tinted black and towering. Zayn is curled up against one, forehead pressed to Plexiglas, chin resting heavily on his fist, eyes skimming the stars above.

He doesn’t think anybody else is awake. It’s late. It was a long day. Everyone's exhausted.

Zayn reaches down to restart the song on his iPod. The glow of the screen is jarring, his eyes stinging in protest, and he hovers before sighing and clicking the track onto loop, giving up the pretense of doing anything other than indulging his mood. His fingers slide the slow beat up and down his leg and his demons come in imagery of a slim, familiar face: prominent nose, gentle eyes, dark hair, tawny skin.

 _Allah-hu-akbar, I told him don’t curse me, but boy, you need prayer, I guess it couldn’t hurt me_ —Zayn’s so involved in the song and the sky that he misses the soft shuffle of socked feet on the rubber aisle of the bus.

A groggy whisper perforates the hush around him, loud enough to hear over the quiet song in his headphones. “Zayn?"

 _I can never make him love me, never make him love me, no, no_ —Zayn wipes his wet eyes deftly before turning, pulling one ear bud out. “Hey, Nialler." 

Niall slinks into the seat next to him, his sleepiness sapping away the hyperactive energy that normally makes his movements snappy and choppy, leaving him slow and drifting instead. “What are you still doing up?" Niall asks, rubbing one bleary blue eye. 

Zayn’s so thankful that it’s dark. He keeps his chin tucked down to his chest; doesn’t want to risk letting stray reflective light from the freeway show his tear tracks. “Couldn’t sleep is all," he says.

“Something on your mind?" Niall mumbles, scooting nearer so his arm is pressed to Zayn’s. Zayn’s not sure if Niall realizes he does that—gets closer when people are hurt. Not in a suffocating manner, really; more like a human bandage, trying to stem the flow of pain. It's nice.

“I guesso, but nothing specific," Zayn lies. 

Niall shrugs, yawns. He slumps against Zayn’s shoulder and reaches up to hook the ear bud Zayn took out, stealing it away. “What’re you listening to, then?" he asks, even as he puts the ear bud in. 

_It’s a, it’s a bad religion, to be in love with someone who can never love you_ —“Frank Ocean," Zayn tells him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “S’called ‘Bad Religion.’" 

“Sounds sad," Niall comments almost immediately.

“It is," Zayn whispers. 

“Are you sad?" Niall asks, neutral and careful, but ultimately without judgment, rubbing the tip of his nose along the curve of Zayn’s shoulder. It tickles.

Zayn decides to fold. What else can he do, really? “I am." 

Niall straightens up then, leans away, opens his arms. “C’mere," he says, patient, but not exactly leaving room for argument.

 _A bad, only bad religion, could have me feeling the way I do_ —Zayn goes, turning and curling his shoulders inward, fitting himself up against Niall with his back curving like a comma into the hold of Niall’s arm and his head nestling into the juncture between Niall’s neck and shoulder. His skin is so soft that Zayn thinks he could stay there for days.

Niall begins to thread his fingers through Zayn’s un-styled hair as he holds him. Niall is warm and golden and ivory whereas Zayn’s bad religion is a shadowy, deep, undulating complex; a friend from home he’s craved since he was young. But he’s happy Niall is the one here, in this moment, he really is. He feels safe.

The song starts over. _Taxi driver, you’re my shrink for the hour_ —“Time to go to sleep," Niall murmurs, continuing his ministrations, but he stays awake just to make sure Zayn gets there first.


End file.
